We All Fall Down
by WitchGirl
Summary: Greg has a brief bonding moment with Langston Small Wedges Side Plot . Post Family Affair.


We All Fall Down

**Summary:** Greg has a brief bonding moment with Langston (Small Wedges Side Plot). Post Family Affair.

_**Author's Note:**_ I'm going to be honest and say I don't really care for Langston much... But this last episode, I thought, was really well done. Also, it made me think of a couple of things (particularly one of Greg's lines at the end) and I decided that this one-shot had to be written. The Wedges thing slipped in there. I have no idea how it got there, but every time I tried to squish it, it managed to wriggle out of my grip. So, there it is. I make no apologies for it, because Wedges should _wedge_ itself into more fics. Happy reading.

* * *

I was whistling as I walked the halls of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Well, that's not entirely true. I've actually never learned to whistle, so instead, I imagined the chirpy notes in my head. But at any rate, I was in high spirits. The events of the last few days had left my heart racing. I could still feel the traces of adrenaline lingering in my system. True—the attack on the lab had been horrifying, and if I hadn't pulled Henry back…

But still—while there were casualties, there were no fatalities on our side. And in they end, they'd still caught the bad guy. And Sara Sidle was back in Las Vegas, which for me, was just the cherry on the Sundae.

_Speak of the devil_, I thought as I watched her swiftly exit a room in front of me and head off down the hall purposefully, calling Catherine's name. I smiled after her, barely noticing the sulking Ray Langston who followed in Sara's wake.

I almost walked right into him.

"Whoa. Hey, Ray." I couldn't comprehend the drooping corners of the older man's lips. "Why the long face?"

Langston looked at me a moment behind his glasses, which reflected the florescent light. And then, he shook it off, like a dog out of the rain. "No reason. Just little things." He managed a weak smile. "I'll get over it."

He began to walk away. But I remembered my first year out in the field. My first year as a CSI. While Langston was older than me, I had been a CSI for much longer. Perhaps this was my chance to impart a little wisdom.

"And how are you going to do that?" I called, my voice casual.

Langston paused a moment in the hallway. I couldn't see Langston's face, but even if I could, I reasoned that I probably wouldn't have been able to decipher the expression anyway.

And then, Langston turned part way, this time his expression cautious, but daring, as if testing an old hypothesis with a new experiment. "Would you like to get a drink?"

I grinned. "Absolutely. Just let me get my coat."

I spun on my heel and began to march off to the locker room when Langston called after me.

"Wait. Dr. Robbins wants me to look at this body that came in a few hours ago."

I still proudly wore my smile, but it was almost sad. I've been there before. All ready to go out and do something fun when work called me back in again. "I get it," I assured him.

He disappeared and I sighed, deciding that the locker room was a good place to go, before someone decided that _I_ should stay and do some more work.

But my plan was foiled by two big brown eyes. "Greg?"

I tried to be polite, but Wendy had just stepped in front of me, thus interrupting my quest to get out of here on time. "What's up, Wendy?"

She smiled a little too widely. "I have your DNA results for your yellow skeleton."

"Great," I said, expecting her to hand it to me. "I'll take that now, and check it out tomorrow."

But instead of placing it in my waiting hand, she held it above her head. "How bad do you want it?"

I cocked an eyebrow. She was acting oddly erratic. "I don't know what you're doing, but I don't have time. Give me the results."

"Come on, Greg, you're taller than me. I'm sure you can reach it."

"I'm only taller than you when you aren't in four inch heels," I pointed out, cocking my head as I stared at her painful-looking pumps. My eyes followed her leg up to her out-of-character skirt and blouse with too many buttons unbuttoned. I resisted the urge to look, reminding the primitive child in me that on normal days, Wendy was a colleague I respected.

Still, even in four inch heels, she was only an inch or so taller than me. I could so totally take her. I narrowed my eyes, the playful old lab tech in me beginning to understand. This was some game the techs were playing. They were probably trying to prank me. It wouldn't work. "You should never play keep-away with someone taller than you."

"Like you said," Wendy reminded me coyly, "I'm in four inch heels." As if on cue, the long, thin column supporting her ankle snapped. Wendy stumbled, breaking character for an instant as that look of pure terror that comes right before a fall scuttled across her face.

I caught her beneath the arms as she fell awkwardly to the side. She probably would have fallen flat on her face if I hadn't been standing right in front of her. We were nose to nose, and suddenly she was blushing. For the first time during the whole conversation, it occurred to me that maybe Wendy was seriously _flirting _with me. It's not that I hadn't recognized the behavior—it's that her style seemed too out of character for it to be sincere. Wendy wasn't the obvious type, well, except when it came to a certain trace technician.

"Um… I dropped your results…" she said bashfully as I helped her back on her feet. She stood unevenly with one foot flat on the ground and the other bent at the knee to level herself out. She was chewing sheepishly on her lip and wringing her hands, acting like a teenager talking to her crush.

"Thanks for, um, catching me…" she said, when I didn't say anything.

"Wendy… what's going on?" I asked at last, stooping to pick up the papers for her.

When she didn't answer, I looked up and saw those brown eyes focused on something behind me. She had stopped chewing her lip, her mouth partially open in an expression that appeared to be regret… but with a hint of _I told you so_.

I looked over my shoulder just in time to see Hodges storm off.

And then, the pieces began falling together. I'm not completely stupid, after all. I didn't make CSI level three for nothing.

I slowly rose to my feet. "Stop it." It wasn't harsh or demanding. I said it quietly, kindly, as my advice to her.

"What?" She blinked, her eyes refocusing. I bet she forgot I was even there.

"These ploys," I explained. "Wendy, I've gotta say, there are few women I know with bigger balls than you, and yet sometimes you act like such a girl."

She scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

I didn't want to entangle myself in the drama, but my mouth was faster than my brain. "Trying to make him jealous? Please, that's so—"

"Don't flatter yourself," she snapped. "That was a dare."

And then, I realized, maybe I'd come to the wrong conclusion. "A… what?"

By now, she was laughing. "Look, Henry, Hodges and I were keeping Archie company as he scanned some old security tape. Sometimes, we chat to pass the time. And so somehow, Henry and Archie started talking about Hodges and me, implying things. Of course, I denied it, so they asked why I haven't shown interest in anyone else. I said I could get anyone I wanted, I just… didn't want to…" She grew slightly haughty at the memory, pushing back her shoulders, pretending like she had nothing to prove, even though she obviously felt like she did. "So then they said that _I _wouldn't be able to get you to kiss me."

"And Hodges let you do this?" I asked.

She snorted. "Actually, he tried to talk the guys out of it. Said that I didn't have to prove anything, that the lab has a zero tolerance policy on sexual harassment, and that office romances practically never work out like Sara and Grissom's did, so that's why I wasn't into anyone at the office."

"All very logical reasons," I confessed, though I knew Hodges didn't _really_ care about any of them. "So you had to prove him wrong?"

"You bet your ass I did," she said. "I had to prove all _three_ of them wrong. And if I hadn't fallen, you would have totally kissed me, too."

I doubted it, considering that I was fairly certain it was all an act until she broke character and the embarrassment seeped through. But I said, "Well, I guess we'll never know, will we?"

She laughed again. "Making Hodges jealous… God, Greg, who do you think I am, some cheerleader with a crush? Please."

She snorted and pushed passed me and I could not suppress my amused grin.

By the time I got to the locker room, to my surprise, Langston was already there, sitting on a bench.

"Hey," I said. "I thought you were in the morgue?"

He did a double take, as if I'd said something wrong. And then, he smiled. "Not yet," he said. "I'd like to think I have at least forty more years left in me."

"Death on the brain?" I asked, leaning against the locker.

"With this job, isn't it always?" he returned.

"So those little things," I said, folding my arms. "How bad are they eating at you?"

He sighed. "Not that bad, I…" He closed his eyes. "I think I might be immune to death."

"I doubt it," I told him. "Even if you have forty more years, you'll eventually end up on a table. Ashes, ashes, we all fall down."

He rubbed his eyes. "That's not what I meant."

"I know," I said.

There was silence. I watched him, curiously. I could see the cogs turning in his head, but I didn't know in which direction they were moving.

"I've… had people die on me before," he explained, staring at a locker in front of him rather than looking at me. "As a doctor, it happened on a regular basis. And, in some instances, I might even have caused that death. In others, I allowed it to happen through my own inaction." He paused. "But I've never shot anyone. Somehow, I thought it would be different."

I hesitated. "I don't know if you know this about me," I began, "but up until a few years ago, I had never had anyone die on me. Both my parents are still alive. My grandparents passed… and that hurt at the time. But they'd lived long, good lives, and they were happy, so that consoled me. Still. Nana and Papa are the only people I knew that had died."

Langston looked up at me. "Is this about… Warrick?" he asked slowly.

This time I couldn't smile, even though I laughed. "No, actually. Nearly three years ago, my life took a downward spiral. You're worried because you don't feel anything. I was worried because I felt too much."

"I don't understand…" he began. "Who…?"

"I can never hear the name James without involuntarily flinching," I confessed. I'd surprised even myself. To be honest, I hadn't noticed that about myself until that moment. Or I guess, maybe, subconsciously I had… but I didn't want to admit it. I shrugged, trying to pretend like it didn't really matter. "He was… a gang member, but that didn't help me feel any better. The hearing was the worst…"

I could tell that Langston was surprised. "I didn't… know. I'm sorry."

He sounded like he wanted to mean it. But I think he had been numb for so long, he'd lost his emotion somewhere and couldn't find it.

I sat down next to him on the bench. "It's not so bad now," I explained. "I'm over it. The thing is, Ray… Three years ago, I would have killed for apathy. I just wanted to feel… nothing."

"And I'd love to feel anything," Langston replied. "I… taught about these serial killers. Sociopaths and diseased personalities… They don't understand feelings. They know how they're supposed to feel, how they're supposed to act, but they don't feel it. They don't mean it. They never really did."

"You're not a sociopath," I assured Langston.

He looked curious, as if I'd said something he'd never considered. "How do you know?"

"Because you want it," I explained. "You're afraid that you don't have it."

"Emotions?"

"A conscience," I said. "But it's in there, I've seen it. It's just in shock. It's numb. Like when you make snowballs with no gloves on. Just because you can't feel it, doesn't mean it's not there."

He cracked a smile. "Have you ever studied psychology?"

I shrugged. "I watch Dr. Phil. I don't think that counts."

Silence again. I tried to think of something more to say.

"Look…" I began, putting a hand on his shoulder. "It gets better. There's so much more in life to focus on. You'll find it."

"How can you be so sure?" he asked, looking almost impressed by my positivity.

"Uh, hello? Everyone here who _hasn't_ accidentally killed someone, raise their hand."

This elicited a chuckle. "I finally understand what they say about you."

I blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"They say you're funny," he explained. "I have to admit, until today, I didn't see it."

I was aghast. "You didn't think I was funny?"

"I thought we had different senses of humor," he explained.

I snorted. "Yeah, well my sense of humor is better than yours."

He grinned.


End file.
